


Metaphysical Hunger

by mizdiz



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: "That hunger that pestered him endlessly screamed like a banshee now as he tasted her unbelievably human blood. Screw a glass of water on a hot day—this was a defibrillator to a frozen heart, shocking it back to life. For a moment, only one, all of Daryl’s judgement clouded and he was consumed only with the desire to feed."
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> vampire au that takes place during the s2/3 interlude, so i'm not sure if you'd classify that as a total au or canon divergence or what, but regardless, it exists, and here it is for your consumption. i twisted some typical vampire characteristics to fit my own aesthetic. vampire purists do not interact.
> 
> gifted to tumblr user peletiersdixon. thnx for the fun prompt, my dude

In a way he lucked out, being the one to provide meat for the group. It made it easier to do what he needed to do without raising suspicion. It wasn’t any different, not really, than eating the flesh of the animals, but it still sat wrong in the pit of his stomach. The logic of it didn’t matter—he knew it was taboo.

He cut a deep slash into the neck of the deer he felled, and caught its blood in a small wooden bowl as it pooled out of the wound. When the bowl was full, he took a steadying breath, pausing as though he were saying grace—although if anything it was an apology, but for whom he wasn’t sure—before he lifted the bowl to his lips, tipping it, pouring the contents into his waiting mouth.

It didn’t taste  _ good _ , per say. Sipping the blood, using more care than he ever had in his life not to make a mess, it felt a lot like drinking a cool glass of water after spending hours sweating in the sun. There were no words to describe the flavor, but the feeling was the most intense wave of satisfaction; a quenching of thirst that was unparalleled. 

When he’d had his fill he set the bowl aside, wiped a few drops off his lower lip with a knuckle, and went about the task of skinning the deer for the others to use for supper. A vague hunger lingered, like a distant tolling of a bell, but he ignored it. It was always present, the hunger, ever since he’d taken the bite to the leg and gone through the change. He knew where it came from; why it wouldn’t subside. Animal blood kept him fed, but it didn’t curb the craving. That’s what unnerved Daryl the most about it all. Most of the time he could pretend he was normal—could believe he would be able to keep up the facade in front of the others—but the hunger was the surest sign that he was different; that he had been altered irreparably. A weaker-willed man may not have been able to resist the urge, and even though he knew he would never act on it, the fact that his heart quickened whenever someone snagged an arm on a branch, or pricked a finger with a knife, the sight and smell of their blood making itself known in the forefront of his mind was enough to make him see himself as a monster.

Which is why they couldn’t know. Which is why he hid it in the first place. He would never hurt them, and he finally had a family, a place he belonged, and maybe he thought himself an abomination, but he’d be damned if he let them think he was one a second sooner than he had to. 

Daryl knew it was a matter of time, of course. The changes were subtle on their own, but after a while they would begin to compile in a way he wouldn’t be able to write off. Why did he no longer need to rest the same way they did? How did he heal so quickly? He was stronger than he used to be—faster, more efficient. In essence, he was indestructible, and sure he was good at playing the part of his old self—pretending to sleep, eat, and ache—but he was bound to slip up eventually. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when, but he knew it was coming, and so for now he drank the blood of a buck alone in the woods, and held onto each precious moment he still had before his secret came out.

*

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Daryl groaned internally and shuffled around in his sleeping bag, turning over onto his side to face Carol. She was staring at him with wide, bright eyes, worried, and he wished she’d fuck off, because her constantly giving a damn about him was not only inconvenient, but it made him feel guilty. She fussed over him, and he had no way to explain to her that he was fine—more than fine—and she should be expending her energy on herself. She was the fragile one. Not that she was weak, but she spent so much of her time caring for the others, especially Lori, that she was practically skin and bone, and he was afraid that one day he was going to try to find her and she would have wasted away into nothing and blown away in the wind.

“You ain’t sleepin’ either,” Daryl whispered back at her. The group was gathered around a low-burning fire, the slow, heavy breaths and light snores of the majority filling the night air. Rick was a way’s off, walking the perimeter, rifle in his hands. And here was Carol, shivering under a flimsy blanket, hardly an ounce of body fat on her to keep her warm, and yet she was worrying about  _ his _ well-being.

“You’re keeping me up, I can hear you thinking all the way from over here. You need to rest. You were out hunting all day; brought that deer back all by yourself. You must be exhausted.”

It had been weeks since he felt exhaustion; weeks since he’d felt tired at all. If anything, he was restless. There were so many things he could do to take the load off everyone’s shoulders. No one else would need to keep watch. They could use him as a buffer against the walkers. He could keep them safer if only he were able to tell them the truth. But the risk of losing them all as a result? Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn’t take the risk. He wouldn’t.

“Don’t pretend you ain’t been workin’ your ass off since dawn. You need rest more than I do,” Daryl said, deflecting.

“You spent most of the day in the woods. How do you know I didn’t just sit on my ass all afternoon?” Carol asked, the corner of her mouth quirking up even as her teeth chattered.

“‘Cause your ass doesn't know how to sit for more than two seconds ‘less you’re sewing someone’s underpants or some shit,” Daryl said, and she smiled fully then. He watched her wrap her blanket around herself tighter, bringing it up to her chin. “You’re cold,” he added.

“Wow, were you a detective back before all this, Mr. Holmes?” she asked flatly, and yeah, alright, it wasn’t the most astute observation, but cold didn’t bother him anymore, and it took watching the others grappling with it to remind him that winter had arrived.

But Carol didn’t know that. In her mind he was suffering just as much as she was. It was too dark to see her all that well, but Daryl could safely bet that she was pale as a ghost with red, wind-bitten cheeks, and it was early enough in the night that it still could drop a few more degrees before dawn. 

“C’mere,” he said then, before he could overthink it. He unzipped the side of his sleeping bag and held it open enough for her to get the hint. In the dancing shadows of the fire Daryl saw her eyebrows fly to her hairline. 

“What?” she asked, not moving from her spot on the ground. Daryl didn’t blame her. Everyone had shared body heat with another at some point, except him. Even before the bite. He never slept well with others in his space. But he didn’t sleep period, not anymore, and maybe he couldn’t help the others in all the ways he wanted to, but he could help her. 

“It’s only gonna get colder tonight, and that fire ain’t doin’ shit for you right now. C’mere. Share with me.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, eyes still wide. 

“You wanna make a big deal about it, or do you wanna still have fingers in the mornin’?” Daryl snapped, and it must have been enough to convince her that he was serious, because in an instant she stood, pulling her blanket tight around her, and hurried over to where he was still holding the sleeping bag open for her. She settled in beside him and the second she touched him she gasped.

“You’re  _ warm _ ,” she breathed, all previous reservations about impeding on his space flying out the window as she burrowed in closer. “You’re like a furnace.” 

“Body temp runs high is all,” Daryl muttered. It wasn’t technically a lie. She rested her face in the crook of his neck, placing her hands on his chest, warming them up, and his heart, which had been one steady rhythm since he turned, regardless of how much he exerted himself, sped up for the first time, catching him off guard, the sensation unfamiliar. Something about her being close to him made him feel exceedingly  _ human _ . 

“Is this alright?” Carol whispered in his ear, and the feel of her breath made him shudder. “Sorry, I’m probably making you extra cold,” she added when she felt the tremor, misinterpreting it as shivers. 

“I’m fine,” he said. To prove it he wrapped his arms around her, the layers of her winter clothes and flimsy blanket doing nothing to make the action feel any less intimate. But he wasn’t going to let her freeze, and he knew it was the right choice when he heard her breathe a sigh of relief at the added body heat she soaked up from him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered gratefully. 

“You get some sleep now, alright?” Daryl whispered back, his voice coming out softer than he intended. 

“Okay. But you too.”

“Hm,” he muttered. He ran his hand up and down her back, using the friction to warm her up even more, and she sighed, her whole body relaxing in his arms.

“Goodnight, Daryl.” 

Gently, he rested his chin on the top of her head, lifting one of his legs over hers, the two of them tangled up like yarn.

“Night,” he whispered.

*

Two weeks after the night they shared the sleeping bag the group found a house that was secure enough to keep them sheltered for a few days at least, and maybe longer if they reinforced it enough. 

Daryl was conflicted about the find, grateful that his family would have walls for once, but selfishly he was disappointed. Carol had made it a habit to sleep curled up in his arms, and even though he never once in his life wished to share space like that with someone, he found himself looking forward to the nightfall, before or after his watch shifts, when she would look his way with a nervous expectation, always uncertain about whether or not he would turn her away. 

He never did. Every night he’d give her a small head nod, and it was all she’d need to come make herself at home in his sleeping bag, coiled around his body, soaking up his unnaturally high body heat through osmosis. Not able to sleep himself, he often found himself watching her face as she slept, holding her a little closer on the nights when her lips turned downward and her muscles twitched, a nasty dream surely taking over—something he did not miss about his old life and body—and he revelled in the way his mere presence seemed to soothe her. It felt good helping her get through the nights. The increase of energy in her was evident during the day, and being able to claim responsibility for that made him feel less guilty for the help he kept from the others for his own sake.

But the house had sturdy walls and a large, wood-burning fireplace that kept the living room toasty, and Daryl couldn’t find a way to justify sharing with her without the threat of frostbite to warrant it.

Their first night in their new shelter, the two of them exchanged a glance and awkward smiles, and Daryl knew that she was wondering the same thing—were they now meant to be separate? Daryl fumbled, trying to come up with an excuse for why she should join him, but Carol took his silence as meaning their arrangement was solely for cold nights on the road, and went to make a spot for herself on the floor. Alone. Daryl spent the rest of the hours until his watch shift lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, pointedly not looking her way. If she was still awake he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to consider the implications if she could only sleep soundly with him there, and frankly, he didn’t want to consider them if she  _ could _ either. 

It was day four when he made the mistake that would cause irrevocable consequences.

That morning he pretended to wake up with the rest of them, scrubbing at his eyes and yawning for show. Getting to his feet, he gravitated toward the kitchen without much thought. He’d seen Carol get up a half hour before everyone else to get a jump on breakfast and he knew he would find her there.

“Morning,” she said when she saw him enter. She was boiling water over a hot plate to use for oatmeal and coffee. Daryl noticed the bags under her eyes were dark. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”

“Rick asked me to hunt and maybe forage some. He wants to stock up in case another storm hits,” Daryl said. Carol nodded absently, arranging bowls on the counter and rationing portions on autopilot, and before he could think better of it, Daryl added, “Why don’t you come with me?”

Carol blinked at him in surprise.

“You want me to go with you hunting?” she asked with a frown. “Why? I’d just scare off all the game.” 

“We’ve still got a good bit of the meat left that you and Maggie salted, and we got walls for a bit. Now would be a good time for you to practice gettin’ your hands dirty, while the stakes are low. ‘Less you feel like doin’ everyone’s laundry for the rest of the apocalypse?” 

Nothing he said was untrue, but that wasn’t the real reason he wanted her with him. He wanted her with him because he missed her. They hadn’t had a lot of time for chitchat while they all worked at reinforcing the house during the day, and with the loss of their nighttime cuddling-for-practicality-only, he felt like he hadn’t seen her in an age, despite sharing the same space. She was the only person he liked spending time with just for the hell of it. Especially now that he kept more distance from everyone than usual, lest they discover his secret.

“I was gonna try and patch up clothes today...” she said with uncertainty. At Daryl’s raised eyebrow the corner of her mouth twitched up and she added, “I get your point.” She furrowed her brow and bit her lower lip, debating. “You’ll clear it with Rick?”

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.”

“Okay,” she said, eyes lighting up at the idea of being trusted to do something besides housework. The others didn’t see the potential in her the same way Daryl did. He couldn’t fathom how—it was as clear as day to him.

“Be ready after breakfast?” he asked.

“It’s a date,” she said, beaming.

For the first time since he was bitten, Daryl blushed.

*

It was approaching midday when the two of them decided to take a break for lunch in a secluded clearing in the woods. So far all they had amassed was a small satchel full of leaves from a plant that had managed to survive the first freeze of the year. They wouldn’t do much by way of filling bellies, but Daryl knew how to ground them into a paste to help take the sting out of wounds, and that was better than nothing.

“We haven’t come across any of the watchers for a while,” Carol said, breaking the companionable silence they’d been sitting in. “Do you think they’re still out here?”

Watchers was the name coined for the monsters like Daryl, although Carol didn’t know she was calling him that, of course. Daryl could respect the name well enough. While “walker” came to be by observing the ambling, dragging walk of their enemy, “watcher” described more than physical appearance. The watchers were called such due to their proclivity for traveling in packs and then proceeding to stalk a victim first and then strike later. The watchers never found you by accident.

Daryl considered his answer as he chewed absently on a small piece of jerky he felt guilty wasting, but knowing Carol wouldn’t let him get away with eating nothing. The uncomfortable truth was that he  _ was _ hungry, but he’d have to hope they bagged a kill today and he would be able to sneak off and skin it in private later to get what he needed, otherwise he would be in for a long night.

“They’re out there,” he said. “They just know better than to draw attention to themselves.”

Beside him on the log they were sharing, Carol drew her brows together and tore her own jerky into thin, wiry strips in her hands. Daryl waited for her to say what was on her mind. 

“Are you afraid of them?” she asked finally. Daryl drew his lower lip in between his teeth and shrugged.

“Are you?” 

She looked at him then, and he trained his gaze on the bridge of her nose. It was a trick he learned as a child; a way to fake eye contact. Someone’s eyes could reveal a lifetime of sins without a single word being spoken, and there were a lot of things he could not have Carol learning. 

“I fear them more than the walkers,” she said. “But not as much as I fear people.”

“Why?”

Carol twisted her mouth in thought. She said, “Walkers are simple. They’re predictable. They only want one thing. It’s the same with the watchers—all they want is to eat—except the difference is that they have the brains to be clever about it.”

“Wouldn’t that make them scarier than humans, then? Monsters with brains?” Daryl asked, but Carol shook her head firmly.

“No, because watchers are clever, but still predictable. When they ambush you, you know their intentions. But humans? Humans have brains  _ and _ are unpredictable. That’s the most lethal combination.” 

They didn’t usually talk about the watchers. No one did. Walkers, like Carol said, were simple. But the watchers were multifaceted. A walker had no subtlety, their element of surprise dependent solely on whether or not their target was paying attention, but Daryl knew firsthand that while the hunger for human blood was painful and persistent, it wasn’t so voracious that obtaining it couldn’t be calculated. The watchers could just as easily be called the hunters, the way they stalked their prey and attacked at the best opportunity, and in this way, maybe Daryl did belong.

But Daryl wouldn’t allow himself to fit in with the watchers. A man born and raised in poverty, he knew what it felt like to want for something endlessly, and had learned a long time ago how to ignore it. This hunger he felt during the waking hours—which for him, were all of them—was no different than being the child he once was, longing for new clothes, or toys, or a comfortable bed to lay his head on. Animal blood would sustain him, keep him alive, and he would suffer the hunger in exchange for what was left of his humanity. 

“It makes me nervous, though,” Carol continued. “Not knowing if they’re around. We haven’t seen any packs since what happened at the warehouse.”

Daryl didn’t need the reminder. He remembered the warehouse incident clearer than any of them. He remembered the way the pack had cornered them, baring sharp teeth that emerged from their gums like a cat’s claws. He remembered the irony in spilling the blood of enemies that had come to steal theirs. 

He remembered his own stupidity, when he fought bodily with a watcher, and, after burying a dagger into its chest, allowed himself to get distracted by his family fighting behind him just long enough for the dying watcher to exact revenge by wrapping its arms around Daryl’s leg and clamping its jaw down on him, leaving behind two perfect puncture wounds in the meat of his calf.

“That was a one time mistake. No one will catch us off-guard like that again.” Daryl didn’t bother mentioning that even if they were caught off-guard, they now had him as a secret weapon.

Carol turned her head and stared off into the trees.

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I just can’t help but feel like they’re always watching.”

Daryl, looking at the gentle features of her profile, couldn’t help but agree.

*

The accident happened a few hours later, when dusk wasn’t far-off, and the two of them were about ready to call the day a wash and go back to the house with nothing but some leaves for all their efforts. It wasn’t even Carol’s inexperience that kept them from catching anything. The forest was just quiet today, all the animals holed up out of view, and it wasn’t until they were about a mile out from the house that Daryl figured out why. 

Animals, perhaps cleverer than watchers and humans combined, sensed the walkers long before Daryl and Carol had. They were trudging up a hill full of dense trees when the first walker came into view, its snarls and groans a familiar cadence even as it startled them. Daryl shot it down easily with a bolt through the head, and no sooner had it collapsed to the ground did more walkers emerge. 

There weren’t enough to call it a horde, but there were still enough to be a nuisance at best, and a genuine threat at worst. Daryl was proud at the speed at which Carol sprang into action, her fingers slipping into the knuckle of the trench knife he’d found for her a few weeks back. She drove the blade into the temple of the walker nearest her, and then shoved it away with both hands to its chest. 

They fought the small battle like they were performing a choreographed dance they’d learned together, one’s movements intuitively complementary to the other’s. Carol used all the fighting skills Daryl had spent the months on the road teaching her, and Daryl did too, because while he might have been mostly indestructible, he still wasn’t sure what would happen if he was bitten. Was there such a thing as a watching walker? He wasn’t especially eager to find out, so together, they took out walkers and pushed their way up the hill, until finally breaking through the treeline.

That would have been the end of it, except the top of the hill surveyed a steep drop into a ravine below that neither of them expected. In their rush to escape the walkers, they both exited the forest at a run, and like tires screeching to a halt, they tried to slow themselves down before reaching the edge, but inertia wasn’t having it. Their fight with the walkers won, but the one with physics lost, there was a suspended moment where the both of them wobbled, trying to keep their balance, right up until they lost their footing and went toppling down. 

Daryl’s body could withstand almost anything, but he still felt pain, and he was pissed to find himself getting bruised and battered by the side of a hill for the second time in his life. Branches scraped his arms, and rocks beat his sides as the world around him spun in a dizzying array of colors and shapes he wouldn’t be able to make out until his body finally stopped moving.

Which it did, of course, but only because it went crashing into the ravine. His clothes instantly grew heavy with water, his socks wet and sloshy in his boots, and mud splattered all over, but he paid none of it any mind. His attention lingered on himself only long enough to confirm that he was still alive, before turning on Carol.

She had landed beside him on her belly, and he was relieved to see the up and down movements of her back as she drew in breaths. The relief was short-lived, however, when he realized the reason her breathing was so visible was because she was struggling to get air, and was trying to get oxygen into her body by taking in deep, gulping pulls of the stuff. 

Daryl didn’t waste time asking stupid questions like, “are you okay?”, or asking her where it hurt. Instead, he took her gingerly by the shoulders and turned her onto her back, moving slowly in case any of her bones were broken. It was then, with her lying in the ravine belly-up, the water running lazily past like this was just an ordinary day, that he saw what the problem was.

Cuts and scrapes, dirt and grass, they all decorated her body and clothes, but Daryl’s eyes zeroed in on her sternum, just below her left breast, where the knife he had picked out specifically for her to help keep her safe was now buried to the hilt. 

“You’re okay.” Now he  _ was _ saying stupid things. This wasn’t like when he’d taken the arrow to his side when that horse threw him. No, judging by her labored breathing, the blade had punctured a lung, or at the very least had torn apart something vital, and Carol was, in fact, very very far from okay. 

“Daryl,” she rasped, and she hardly had enough air to say those two syllables, let alone enough to keep her whole body running. 

She was dying.

Daryl was uncharacteristically paralyzed, consumed with a need stronger even than the inhuman hunger he carried with him everywhere. He thought about what it felt like for her to be curled up in his arms, where he knew she was safe, and now, as she lay dying in front of him, minutes, or maybe moments away from leaving him forever, he realized that what he felt for her wasn’t a fond tolerance, or even something as banal as simple friendship. It was a bit cliché, perhaps, to have a romantic epiphany at a time like this, but who could fault him? He used to be a child who taught himself to ignore it when he wanted something, and now, as an adult and a monster, he’d only refined the skill.

But this went beyond want. This need was more carnal than the way a walker tore up flesh, and more painful than the gnawing hunger of a watcher. He needed her to live. Point blank period. It wasn’t up for debate.

“You’re okay,” he said again, except this time it wasn’t a platitude. Daryl then did three things, one-by-one.

First, he met her eye—not just the bridge of her nose, but her actual gaze head-on. Her eyes told him several stories, some that were about the fear of death, and some that were shameful inklings of relief that maybe the struggle would be over now. He didn’t blame her for that last bit. There wasn’t anyone who lived a hard life who didn’t revel at least a little bit in the idea of its end.

Second, after they had time to read each other's secrets, he tore his eyes from hers and trained them instead on her lips. They were stained with blood. Not a lot, but enough. Daryl hesitated only a moment before leaning in and kissing her gently. The scent of her blood made his constant cravings claw at his insides, but he wasn’t kissing her to satiate that kind of hunger. He was kissing her because she was afraid, and he was about to do something that was going to scare her even more, and she was the one who, with her lips on his temple in a tiny bedroom in a farmhouse after an accident much like this, had taught him how to kiss it better.

Even still, when he pulled away, barely an inch, her ragged breath hot on his face, he couldn’t help but lick his lips. It hardly counted as a drop, the blood that she shared with him like a lipstick stain, but it might as well have been a meal’s worth. That hunger that pestered him endlessly screamed like a banshee now as he tasted her unbelievably  _ human _ blood. Screw a glass of water on a hot day—this was a defibrillator to a frozen heart, shocking it back to life. For a moment, only one, all of Daryl’s judgement clouded and he was consumed only with the desire to feed.

But even the taste of her on his tongue wasn’t enough to rival that need to keep her here with him. The needs of the watchers were of the body only, but the needs of a man in love? They were downright metaphysical. 

The third thing he did was the one he didn’t give himself time to overthink. Migrating from her lips, he found the base of her neck. Most of her body was filthy and already bruising from the fall, but the spot where her neck met her shoulder was nothing but smooth, clear skin. 

Carol’s breathing was the rattle of death closing in. If he didn’t do it now it would be too late. 

Maybe it already was, but he didn’t let himself think about that either. Instead, he opened his mouth against the thrum of her pulse point. From his gums, fanged teeth revealed themselves, appearing on their own accord; a new involuntary action his body had attained. He bit down hard, and even in the clunkiness of her breathing he heard it hitch in surprise. For a moment, the two of them stayed still, his fangs buried in her flesh, the smell of her blood in his nostrils, and the taste of it on his tongue. 

And then he pulled away. And in his wake he left them:

Two perfect puncture wounds.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for blood play

There was a dilapidated cabin within sight of the ravine. Daryl scooped Carol—unconscious now—up from the water with ease, and carried her out, his boots sticking in the mud with every step as he maneuvered rocks slick with moss, and fallen twigs and branches. He held her close, the way he would when they shared a sleeping bag, hoping that she somehow knew he was keeping her safe.

When they reached the cabin, Daryl tried the handle and pushed the door in slowly, the rusted hinges creaking as they went. His crossbow was still in the ravine, lost from his arms when he fell, and so he was extra cautious, not wanting to have to go hand-to-hand with a walker unarmed. 

But the cabin was empty. It hadn’t always been, Daryl could tell, by the clues that were scattered around. Food wrappers, a moth-eaten blanket, a single tennis shoe—it all told the story of those who had been there before. Nobody had seen the inside of this cabin for some time, though, and Daryl was glad of it, because he had more important things to tend to. A dusty but comfortable couch sat against the far wall, and Daryl gently laid Carol down on it and took stock of her battered body. 

She was still breathing; was still here with him. He lightly traced the bite mark he left on her neck, and prayed it was working its magic. For him, the transition had been a full-day affair that he had to hide from his family, secluding himself in the woods as long as possible under the guise of hunting. Carol, at least, would have the good fortune to turn with someone there at her side who understood.

Daryl turned his attention to the knife still buried in between her ribs. It was made of steel, thank Christ. If she had been using her silver knife there would be no hope. They all carried silver knives nowadays—the metal was to watchers what headshots were to walkers; the only way they knew how to take one down. If the bite took, Carol would heal quickly, but the blade would need to be out of her in order for it to happen. Daryl grabbed the knife’s handle and moved it back and forth slowly, working it from the grip of her flesh, until finally, it gave way and he was able to pull it out entirely. 

For a moment he hovered over her, knife in hand, suddenly doubtful that the venom he injected into her veins would be strong enough to overpower the trauma the fall had done to her body.

But still she breathed.

Daryl sat the knife to the side and examined the rest of her. The palms of her hands were raw where they had scraped against sharp rocks, and a brilliant bruise bloomed on her cheek. She was soaked to the bone, but then, so was he. That would need to be taken care of, as would the matter of securing their shelter for the night. He was determined to make this as comfortable as possible for her. It was the least he could do, after forcing it on her against her will.

Arranging a to-do list in his head, Daryl got to work. He went back to grab his crossbow first, not knowing how long she’d be unconscious for and not wanting to risk her waking up terrified, confused, and alone. She would be terrified and confused regardless, but he could offer her company at least.

Next, he barricaded the front door and covered the windows. The place grew dark in the absence of sunlight, and he found a few candles and lit them, placing them around the room, creating an eerie, unintended ambiance that almost made him laugh. Carol would wake up in the ominous glow of candlelight and discover that the man she trusted unquestioningly had turned her into a monster. How fucking dramatic.

Daryl then stripped off his clothes until he was down to his boxers, and laid them out on the floor to dry. He chewed on a thumbnail, standing over the couch and debating, before deciding the hell with it, and began disrobing Carol as well. He left her bloody undershirt and bra on, and whispered an apology to her when he tossed her boots aside and shimmied her drenched jeans off her legs. He quickly covered her up with a blanket, granting her as much modesty as he could. 

Then he sat on the opposite side of the room, directly across from her, and waited.

Patience had always been one of his better skills, and becoming a watcher had only refined it, what with the many nights he'd been forced to lie awake in still silence. But he didn't feel as patient now, with heavy questions weighing on him. Was he able to save her? And if he was, would she be grateful, or were his actions unforgivable? He needed to know, but like the sleep he was no longer able to summon, time was not in his control.

And so he waited.

It was dusk when she finally began to stir. Daryl tensed, watching her the way he'd watch a skittish doe he was tracking—with tentativeness and intensity.

She blinked her eyes open, and at first it was like when she would wake up in their shared sleeping bag, calm and carefree for those first few seconds before reality came rushing back in.

And rushed back in. Even from his spot across the room, Daryl could see the moment she realized she didn't know where she was. She tried pushing herself up, and then gasped, her hand flying to the wound on her sternum, and she was forced to lie back down again. It was only then that she turned her head and her eyes found him.

"Daryl?" she asked, her voice full of the confusion and fear he'd predicted.

"You're alright," Daryl said before anything else.

"Where are we? What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"There were walkers. We were fighting walkers, and there was a cliff, and we fell. My knife…" She tucked her head down to where her hand was still pressed to her wound, as though she thought she had missed a knife sticking out of her. "I couldn't breathe, and you were over me, and then…" She trailed off, and slowly, her hand migrated from her sternum, up to the side of her neck where Daryl's bite was. She shut her mouth tight, and that fear and confusion was now aimed at him, and it broke his heart.

“You were dyin’,” Daryl said quietly. “And I only knew one way to save you.” 

Carol managed to sit up, cringing slightly, and she pushed herself into the corner of the couch, bringing her knees to her chest, and Daryl realized like a punch to the gut that she was cowering. From him. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he said, and it came out like a plea.

“You bit me,” she whispered. “Why would you bite me?”

He knew she was fitting the pieces together, but wanted him to say it. He blew out a long stream of breath, searching for any combination of words that would confirm her suspicions but not scare her away. He didn’t think one existed.

“At the warehouse,” he said slowly. “I got bit.” 

“No,” Carol said, shaking her head. “We would have known.  _ I _ would have known.”

“I hid it. I hid it real good. I didn’t want to, but I knew if I didn’t y’all would…” He shrugged, averting his gaze. “I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.”

Carol seemed at a loss. 

_ “You’re a watcher?” _ she asked in a harsh whisper.

“No, I’m  _ Daryl _ . That’s it, that’s all I am.” He got to his feet and took a few steps her way, and she tensed, making him stop in his tracks with a sigh. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. I would  _ never _ hurt you.” 

“You  _ bit _ me,” she said, and then her eyes widened, as though it was only right then that she realized what that meant. Her breaths grew quicker, but this time it was out of fear instead of pain. “You bit me. I’m gonna turn.” 

“You were gonna die. And I couldn’t let you.” He sank to the floor so that she would feel less intimidated. He repeated, helplessly, “I couldn’t let you.” 

Carol—his strong, pragmatic Carol—regarded him for several seconds, before letting her hand drop from her neck and rest atop her bent knees. She squared her shoulders, regaining her composure, and asked, “What’s going to happen to me?” 

“It ain’t so bad,” Daryl said quickly, happy to talk about anything that kept the betrayal out of her voice. “In some ways it’s even alright. You’ll be stronger. That wound on your chest—two hours ago you wouldn’t have been able to move with how deep it was. You’ll be healthier.”

“Will I be hungrier?” Carol asked coldly, and Daryl blanched.

“You’ll be hungry,” he confirmed. “But you can manage it.”

“I’m not going to hurt anyone, Daryl. I’ll drive my silver knife right into my gut if I have to.”

“But you  _ don’t _ have to. Is that what you think I been doin’? Hurtin’ people?”

“What the hell am I supposed to think? That’s what watchers  _ do _ .” 

“Well not me. And you don’t gotta either.”

“How do you survive?” 

“Animal blood.”

Carol furrowed her brow, a bit of curiosity mixing in with her fear and anger.

“That works?” she asked.

“It’s enough.” He didn’t want to lie, so he added, “It don’t get rid of the hunger entirely, but you learn to live with it. I ain’t never tasted another person’s blood, I swear.”  _ Except yours, _ he didn’t say.

Carol played with the blanket still draped over her, watching him unblinkingly, and he felt small under the scrutiny. 

“I’d be able to hide it?” she asked finally. Daryl nodded eagerly.

“‘Specially ‘cause there’s the two of us now.” For the first time since he was bitten, Daryl felt the weight of his loneliness, and his heart skipped a beat at the prospect of no longer having to carry the secret alone. He made a second attempt towards the couch, walking over on his knees, and she looked wary, but didn’t flinch. He stopped right in front of her and met her eye, letting her see everything he’d been hiding, and hoping to show her the honesty behind his claims. “I am not gonna hurt you,” he said once again, and this time she seemed to hear him.

“You shouldn’t have done this. You should have let me die,” she said sternly, and then reached out to cup his face. “But I would have done the same thing.” 

Daryl relaxed into her touch, relief flooding through him. He wanted to say he was sorry, but he couldn’t, because he wasn’t. She was alive. He would have done it all over again.

“How do you feel?” he asked once she pulled her hand back. She frowned at the question, like she hadn’t thought to consider the state of her own body until he mentioned it. 

“I feel…” she searched for the word. “Manic. I feel like I’m on the brink of mania. Like there’s this energy welling up in me.” 

Daryl nodded along with her description, knowing exactly what she meant. 

“It’s like that for a while, and it’ll get kinda intense, but it evens out, and then afterwards, you just kind of always feel like you had the best sleep of your life, and that you could take on the world if you had to.” 

Merle, Daryl thought idly, would have been obsessed with the power and strength a watcher had without needing to smoke a thing. 

“Does it hurt?” Carol asked. 

“Not exactly. Everything’s just gonna be real fast paced for a minute. You’ll feel like jumpin’ outta your skin, like it’s a size too tight, but I promise it ain’t forever.” 

“Okay,” Carol said, trying to mask her fear. To most people, it would have worked, but Daryl wasn’t most people. He knew her backwards and forwards, and took her hand in his. She startled but didn’t pull away.

“I’m right here,” he told her. “You ain’t goin’ through it alone. You’re safe. And once it’s all over you’ll be safer than you ever been in your whole damn life, ‘cause there ain’t nobody who can hurt you anymore.” 

The implications of that kind of strength seemed to hit home. She would be able to take on walkers like it was nothing, she wouldn’t have to worry about other watchers, and if anyone ever raised a hand to her again she would have the power to take them down before they landed the blow. 

Among all the conflicting emotions on her face, Daryl saw a new one appear, subtle, but there:

Excitement.

*

Around midnight Carol officially was in the throes of transformation, pacing the room, nearly clawing at the walls. Daryl watched from the couch, sympathetic, remembering the way he had tweaked in the woods, seeking out walkers to kill just to try and work some of the energy out of his vibrating body. 

“I need to do something,” Carol said, holding her elbows, wearing a trench into the floor as she walked the same path for the millionth time. “Anything.” 

“We shouldn’t go nowhere.”

“Then we need to do something in  _ here _ ,” Carol said pointedly.

“Yeah, well whaddya suggest? I doubt a card game is gonna calm your nerves. You’re just gonna hafta wait it out, sweetheart.” 

At the term of endearment he let loose on accident, Carol stopped pacing and looked him dead on. Something wicked washed over her face as the corner of her lip quirked up.

“I know what we could do,” she said, and before Daryl had a chance to ask, she was on him, straddling his lap and shoving him back against the couch cushions as she held his face in her hands and crashed her mouth against his. They were still both mostly undressed, and their bare skin brushed together. 

Daryl was hard  _ instantly _ . 

He let her kiss him wildly for who knows how long, before he got his wits about him, and pushed her back. She made a growling noise in protest, and tried to capture his lips again, but he held her in place. 

“Wait,” he said. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?” she asked, and when she ground herself down on him it took him a minute to remember why he was protesting. 

“You’re not in your right mind. You wouldn’t be jumpin’ me like this if you were,” he said, even as his cock twitched. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Carol said, hands slipping to his shoulders and nails digging into his flesh. “When we have shelter there are too many people. On the road it’s too damn cold. The woods are too dangerous. If I can’t fuck you when we’re all alone and I’m hornier than I’ve ever been in my goddamn life, then I guess it’ll never happen, huh?” 

Daryl blinked.

“What?” 

“Daryl,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I want you  _ so  _ bad. All the time. And right now I can barely stand it. If you tell me no I’m gonna die.” She leaned in close, nuzzling her nose against his, and panted,  _ “Don’t tell me no.” _

“This ain’t just you freakin’ out?” Daryl asked, hands finding her waist on their own accord. “You want this?” 

“I don’t see,” Carol said, sucking on his earlobe. “Why it can’t be both.” 

Daryl shuddered. She peppered kisses along his jawline and then took his lower lip in between her teeth. Daryl startled when he felt a quick, sharp pain, and Carol pulled away with a gasp. A hand flew to her mouth, and she felt around and found two razor-sharp teeth that hadn’t been there before.

Daryl wiped his bottom lip with his thumb, and was surprised to find blood. He looked at the red stain mildly, and moved to wipe it off on his boxers, when Carol grabbed him by the wrist. She maintained eye contact with him as she slowly took his thumb into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, as she licked it clean, and Daryl thought he could have cum from that alone.

“Carol—” he started, but she shushed him gently. She leaned in like she was going to kiss him, but instead nipped at his lip again, breaking the skin deeper this time. Daryl could feel hot blood drip down his chin, a drop of it landing on his chest. She kissed him where the droplet fell, and then, without warning, bit him hard. Daryl didn’t have time to react before she was sucking on the small punctures, coaxing blood to bubble up and then licking it away. Daryl took hold of Carol’s chin and made her look at him. She ran the back of her knuckles down his face gently and he leaned into the touch. 

Without a word, Daryl captured her lips in another crushing kiss, grabbing her ass and pressing her closer, while she clawed at the back of his neck, moaning into his mouth. Daryl himself was not a hard man to please, but the monster inside him was savage, and until then Daryl thought he knew what hunger felt like, but as he held Carol flush against him, he was met with a new kind of a hunger—a carnal, animalistic hollowness that only she could fill.

He tugged Carol’s ratty undershirt up, breaking the kiss only long enough to get it over her head, and fumbled with the clasp of her bra until it came undone. She slid it off her arms and tossed it onto the floor. Daryl kissed a trail from her lips, down her neck, along the ridge of her collarbone, and then settled over her breast, taking her nipple into her mouth and toying with it with the tip of his tongue, making her let out little panting gasps as she threw her head back.

Sliding his hands up the length of her torso, his hand paused over the raised skin of her wound that was nearly healed now. He kissed the skin around the scar, and could smell the blood that rushed just underneath. Remembering what she had tasted like down in the ravine, Daryl was overcome with a desire to do it again.

Reading his mind, Carol leaned away from him and snatched something up from the ground. She sat back up and held up the knife Daryl pulled from her hours before. She offered it to him, but he shook his head.

“I promised not to hurt you,” he said. Carol considered this, and then tucked her fingers into the knuckle grip securely. She placed the blade just below the scar, and drew a thin, deep line across her rib. On the stretch of smooth, unblemished skin, beads of blood popped up, and then welled over, spilling down her belly. Daryl looked to Carol for permission. She sat the knife aside and leaned back, Daryl supporting her back. 

Daryl went at the slice in her skin with an open mouth, lapping up the blood seeping from the wound. He felt his cheeks get wet as he smeared blood over her body and on his face. Daryl picked Carol up and then laid her lengthwise on the couch, climbing on top of her and going right back to the task at hand, drinking and sucking as she bled. 

While she writhed underneath him, Daryl slipped a hand under her panties, where she was absolutely soaking wet. Daryl growled into her skin as he rolled small circles on her clit. She whined and breathed out expletives, her hands raised above her, lengthening her whole body for Daryl to have. 

When she came she arched her back, rattling the walls of the cabin with her moans. Daryl kept touching her until she became too sensitive, and tugged him up to kiss him thoroughly. Daryl shared her blood with her, running his tongue over hers. In return, she maneuvered away from his lips and bit down on his shoulder. Daryl watched his blood leak out. She placed her hand over it, and then licked her own palm. 

“Get on your back,” she told him, and he wasted no time switching places with her. She pulled her cotton panties off, and helped Daryl out of his boxers. She straddled him, and ran a thumb over his mouth, which he nicked with his own sharp fang, and sucked on while she groaned. 

She was drenched, and he slid inside her easily, her warm walls gripping him. He ached for more, and she gave it to him.

Holding her waist, she began to ride him slowly, rising all the way up until he almost slipped out of her, and then coming back down so deep he hit her cervix. As she found her rhythm she began to speed up, and drops of blood from the cut along her rib splattered, hitting Daryl on the chest and neck. He put a hand between her legs and let her rub herself as she took all of him in, again and again. 

“Carol,” he said as a warning when he felt the heat building up. In response, Carol swiped three fingers over her cut, and then placed those fingers in Daryl’s mouth to suck on. He thought he might die. This might be what would end him. 

When Carol came a second time, her walls pulsating around him wildly, Daryl couldn’t take anymore. He bucked his hips up as she thrust down, and he came harder than he ever had in his life, emptying every last bit of himself deep inside of her, until there was nothing left. 

She collapsed on top of him. They were a mess, the two of them, stained red all over. She lifted her head and kissed him leisurely, so contrary to the frenzy she’d attacked him with earlier. Daryl thought she was probably having a better time with the transition than he had. That was okay, though, he was glad to help.

“You’re calmer,” he said after the room had been full of nothing but their breathing and lazy kisses for a good long while.

“For now,” she said. “Don’t know how long it’ll last. You might have to help me out again.”

Daryl rubbed her back and smiled into the crook of her neck.

“Lucky for you, watchers don’t sleep,” he whispered, kissing the space behind her ear. 

“I could get used to this,” Carol said wistfully, laying her head down on Daryl’s chest, making herself cozy, and the way they were wrapped around each other was reminiscent of all those times on the road when Daryl kept her safe and warm.

“Me, too,” he said. Suddenly, the prospect of living out a life as a watcher didn’t seem so bad. Carol could never be a monster, and if she wasn’t one, then maybe he wasn’t one either. “We got each other.” 

Carol hummed in agreement, and as he listened to the thrum of her heartbeat, he thought for the first time since the warehouse that he was properly fed.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter 2 will be up a week from today at the absolute latest. hope you're enjoying so far. i am. this prompt is hella fun
> 
> -diz


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